


Attachments

by Hornswaggler



Series: under cover of the night [4]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Fluff, M/M, New Years, Post-Nuclear Option
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 03:54:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5651575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hornswaggler/pseuds/Hornswaggler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"At the beginning of the year, Deacon wouldn’t have guessed he’d come to trust some synth detective Carly had picked up in Diamond City. Of course, he also hadn’t expected to actually take down the Institute before the next decade hit."</p><p>A bit of new years reminiscing, complaining, and, of course, a little bit of lying; after all nothing in the Commonwealth is certain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Attachments

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing but fluff because I needed happy things and these dorks are adorable.

2289 snuck up on the Commonwealth with little fanfare. Carly had been the one to point it out -- she was one of the few people with a really accurate time-keeper these days -- and it hadn’t really come up since.

It had been a little over a year since she’d come up out of the Vault. Even less time since the Brotherhood had fallen, quite literally, and the Institute collapsed. A year was a long time in the Commonwealth, but it also felt like nothing at all, even with how much had happened. Not that taking down those two groups had made the area the pinnacle of safety, but it was a hell of a lot better than it had been, and the people in it seemed to be a lot better themselves.

Well, he couldn’t vouch for everyone else, but Deacon knew it was at least true in his case. It was easier to look in the mirror these days. The Railroad was still operational, but they didn’t have to stay nearly as far in the shadows as before, and for the first time in a very long time, he felt he was allowed to at least  _ try  _ to breathe.

He was still lying. Deacon wasn’t sure that would ever really stop. He was just lying about things that actually mattered somewhat less often.

And hell, now there was someone who wasn’t afraid to call him out on those lies. Consistently. Daily. Almost to the point of annoying.

Not quite, though.

“Pretty sure I read something about all of the leftover vaults self-destructing in the new decade. Blow a bunch of holes in the ground all over the country.”

“Bullshit.”

“Would you really put it past them, though?”

Nick only responded with rolled eyes, but there was something that looked like a smile breaking through. They’d ended up on the roof of the main building of the Slog, leaning up against one of the guard posts. It wasn’t like they actually needed an extra watch, but there wasn’t exactly much else to do when Carly was making her rounds.

If anyone found it odd that their General made rounds in the middle of the night, they didn’t mention it.

“I’d definitely prefer a year without explosions,” Nick said. “Seen enough of those to last a long time.”

Deacon scoffed. “Good luck with that. Pretty sure Carly’s some sort of magnet for trouble.”

Nick glanced down toward the half-drained pool where Carly was tinkering with one of the turrets she’d set. “Suppose that’s a point.” He seemed to consider it for a second before adding, “Not that you’re much better.”

“Ah, c’mon, I’m the epitome of safety.”

“Right.”

Deacon shoved at Nick’s shoulder and was satisfied when it drew out an actual grin. “Safer than before, at least.”

“Somehow that doesn’t seem likely.” Nick pulled his screwdriver from his coat pocket and began turning it over in his hands seemingly unconsciously. “Not like you people know how to take a break.”

“Institute or not,” Deacon reminded him, “still got a ton of people we gotta protect synths from, they haven’t exactly gotten more understanding.”

“Well I’m not complaining.” Nick gave a shrug, glancing down at his metal hand for a moment. “It’s good work. And maybe there’ll be fewer people actively trying to wipe you out these days.”

“Here’s hoping.”

A short burst of gunfire made them both tense and Deacon’s hand flew to the gun at his hip before he spotted Carly below waving them down from next to the turret. “Misfire!” she called, turning toward the door to wave away what he assumed were a few worried ghouls. “Misfire, my bad.”

Nick let out a huff of breath that might’ve been a laugh, shifting a little as he leaned back against the guard post. If he was leaning a little more against Deacon’s shoulder at the same time, neither of them mentioned it.

“Dunno how the hell she survived this long sometimes,” Nick said. “Takes on entire armies and then nearly gets killed by a turret…”

“Well she did have a bit of help. And some impressive guns.”

“True, nuclear power will do that.”

Deacon chuckled, tilting his head back to stare up at the stars dotting the sky and letting his sunglasses slip forward a little to see over the dark tint. “It has been one hell of a year, hasn’t it?”

“That’s an understatement,” Nick said with a quiet scoff. “Still mostly surprised we all lived to see the end of it.”

“Not for lack of trying, apparently.” Deacon let his head roll to the side enough to raise a critical eyebrow in Nick’s direction. “ _ Somebody _ has this unfortunate habit of taking on grenades singlehandedly.”

The detective rolled his eyes. “That was just the once…”

“Three times,  _ at least _ .” Deacon counted them off on one hand stubbornly. “The one with the tripwire in that factory --”

“It was a weak one, barely even a scratch.”

“-- that damn raider with the power armor --”

“It landed right at your feet, I’d like to hear an alternative.”

“-- and let’s not forget that Gunner ambush.”

Nick actually laughed then. “That was before you even tolerated me.”

Deacon considered that, recalling the gunfight and the sudden appearance of the sixth Gunner they hadn’t expected. It  _ had  _ been pretty early on. Maybe a week or two, at the most, now that he thought about it. Still… “The point still stands,” he insisted. “You’re not as indestructible as you like to think.”

“More so than you are, anyway.” Nick lifted his right hand and flexed the metal fingers idly. “At least I don’t really bleed. How many times have you decided to jump out into the middle of gunfire? Take on a mirelurk by yourself? Last I checked not even  _ you  _ can talk one of those down.”

“Granted,” Deacon snorted, “but it does make for some good stories.”

The look Nick shot him was unimpressed. “Your stories are always full of crap anyway; it’s not like you need new material.”

“Always gotta throw some truth in there, don’t you?”

“Still.” Nick turned enough to meet Deacon’s eyes stubbornly. He remembered a time when those yellow eyes were still unsettling. “You  _ were  _ the one who decided to stride up to a Courser -- what was it you asked him?”

Deacon didn’t manage to suppress a snort and he lifted his eyes as if trying to remember. “What was it...if he knew where the barbeque was?”

“Your exact words,” Nick said, still staring him down, “your  _ exact  _ words were, ‘Hey pal, do you know where the company barbeque is supposed to be?’”

He couldn’t hold back the laugh then, well aware that Nick was trying to look disapproving as he doubled over. “That,” he managed to choke out, “that was great. And you came in flawlessly with that flamethrower, I swear I actually saw him look surprised.”

“ _ You  _ were the ones who warned us about Coursers,” Nick reminded him. “You were the one insisting that the best course of action was to run.”

“Yeah, well that was before Carly proved she could take them solo. Never a match for all three of us.”

“Still, if I had a functioning heart,” Nick tapped at his chest twice, “it would have failed a long time ago. The two of you combined are impossible.”

Deacon took a moment to catch his breath, clapping the detective on the shoulder as he shook his head. “Ah, you worry too easily.”

“I worry just enough, I’d say.”

“Aw, Valentine, you  _ do  _ care.”

Nick rolled his eyes, but his left hand -- the one that was still covered with that synthetic skin, he always seemed to make a point of using that one more -- reached back to take Deacon’s on his shoulder before it fell away again. It was always an interesting contrast, the skin over the metal skeleton, and knowing how deceptively strong that grip could be.

Deacon had only ever felt that kind of strength a few times. All of them had been in cases when Nick had been suddenly pulling him away from the line of fire, yanking him behind some kind of cover before Deacon had even realized there was a threat. 

Every other time it was gentle. Almost always with that left hand, like he was trying to seem more human.

Deacon had been working on the misconception that that sort of thing was necessary, that the metal hand was somehow less. It was a work in progress, but it had been getting better.

“It’s been known to happen,” Nick said after a moment. There was a very slight increase of pressure in his grip, almost too slight to be noticed, before he let his hand drop again. “Not often to this...extent, admittedly.”

“That so?”

Nick gave a short hum, head tilting to one side thoughtfully. “Yeah, you know. Might have gotten a little attached.”

“What, to me?” Deacon chuckled, one hand waving dismissively. “Haven’t noticed a damn thing.”

The scoff was expected, as was the beginning of the usual response: “Now  _ that’s _ \--”

Deacon cut him off, reaching to tug Nick’s face around enough to kiss him firmly. It was satisfying to spot a bit of surprise in his expression once Deacon pulled back enough to see it, but the smirk was back in second.

“Bullshit,” Nick finished, and Deacon managed a slightly exasperated sigh before the metal hand wove into the wig he was wearing and pulled him close again, effectively preventing any retort. Not like that was something to complain about. He’d waited way too long to be doing this for all kinds of stupid reasons, and hell, the Commonwealth was still a pretty nasty place. Nothing was ever certain, right?

At the beginning of the year, Deacon wouldn’t have guessed he’d come to trust some synth detective Carly had picked up in Diamond City. Of course, he also hadn’t expected to actually take down the Institute before the next decade hit. He still wasn’t sure which was more surprising -- watching the facility under CIT collapse or sitting up on the roof of the Slog kissing Nick Valentine like tomorrow wasn’t a certain thing.

And really, when was it ever?

A sudden thought had Deacon pull away again briefly, though his hand stayed where it was at the lapel of Nick’s coat. “Hey, Bullseye!” he called, flashing Carly a grin when she glanced up curiously. “What time is it?”

He could see her amused smirk even at this distance before she turned to her Pip-Boy, flipping the dial twice.

“1:38,” she called back up, and Deacon gave a quick wave before turning back to meet Nick’s grin with a wide one of his own.

“Well, happy official new year, detective.”

“To many more, agent.”

Yeah, Deacon decided, watching the glowing yellow eyes close as Nick pushed their foreheads together for a few moments, his left hand skimming down Deacon’s arm, it certainly had been a good year.


End file.
